


Go Hook A Bookworm

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Comfort Reading, First Kiss, Geek Dean, Geek Love, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Nervous Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Harper Lee," Castiel says; as he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "An exceptional choice."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And if Dean said he wasn't glowing right about now, he'd be lying.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Hook A Bookworm

It's all Sam's fault, to begin with. That's an important point.

If Dean hadn't been waiting for his call, he'd never have made himself coffee in the first place. He'd have gone out to get one, and saved himself the trouble of sitting by the phone - like any normal, reasonable human being would.

As it is, he'd been attempting to half-use the kitchen counter, and then - _bam_. Tada! Cofee all over the floor. And his jeans. And his _book_.

"Oh," Dean says, "oh, no, _no_ \- "

Stooping down, he snatches it up - but, of course, it's too late. The pages are sodden.

Cursing, Dean places it on the sideboard, finally discarding the phone - but alas, to no avail. Dean attempts to dislodge the worst of the damage, and ends up tearing out a good half of the pages.

Dean stares at the book. "No," he says. 

 

 

And that is the story of how Dean decided never to return to his local library ever again, aside from to slide an apologetic seven pounds eighty beneath the door.

So now, naturally, he's in a predicament. Namely: he doesn't have a book. Namely: he can't return to his usual branch. Namely: he has to go to _this_ run-down hole.

According to Google, it was a quiet, nearby spot, with a child-friendly atmosphere and several charming employees.

The roof's stooped. There are a couple of plants outside the window, but quite frankly, they look like they're on the way out. A couple of letters are missing from the sign, so that it reads _P  B IC L BRARY_.

Somebody's made a pretty decent job of the display on the pavement, though - looks like kids have made the murals, or something. A lot of them look like mountains: pink and yellow and orange ones, with pointy peaks.

Dean avoids them as best he can.

 

 

On the inside, it improves a little. There aren't many people, which is good - just one guy with mussed-up hair. The air smells faintly of peppermints, and must. Dean sucks it in, and exhales - breathes deep, and lets it all flow out.

Leaning forward on the desk, Dean puts on his best smile. "Hi," he says. "I'm looking for the classic literature section? Could you help me?"

The guy stares at him. "Back there," he says, and gestures with one thumb over his shoulder, basically taking in the entire room with a single movement. "Enjoy." 

Dean coughs. "Excuse me?"

The guy looks up. "What?"

"Could you be more specific? I mean - where?"

"Back there," the guy repeats. "Next to kid's fiction. You'll find it. Hey! Cassy!"

"What is it?" somebody calls out, voice low and rough. From behind a shelf, a man steps into view. Dean sends him a smile. He doesn't smile back. "I'm a little busy. If this is about the display, I won't - "

"Dude wants to know where the classics are," the guy hollers. Dean flinches back.

"I can go find them myself. It's no trouble. Sorry I asked."

"You want the classics?" Suddenly, the man seems to have perked up. His head twitches towards them. He's wearing a bright blue jumper. "I'll take you."

"Um," Dean says. "Thanks. If you don't wanna, I can handle it."

The man shrugs, and beckons him closer. Dean follows, with one last wary look at the guy on desk duty - but he's back between pages, lost to the world.

As he walks closer, Dean can make out more of his guide's features: strong, hard jaw, long nose, wide eyes, impressive stubble. "Dean Winchester," Dean says. "Good to meet you."

"Castiel," the man replies. "Castiel Novak. Most people call me Cas. I've been told it's a mouthful."

"Nah," Dean says. "It's a nice name. Cool."

"Thank you," Castiel says, flat-faced. "Shall we go?"

Castiel has long, pink fingers, with long, pink nails. He's got pretty hands. Therebare smudges of charcoal underneath his nails.

"Alright," Dean says. "Lead the way, then."

Behind him, desk guy giggles. Dean chooses to ignore that.

 

 

Books never fail to make Dean feel calmer. He's known it for a long time. Ever since he was a kid, squeezed underneath his bed with a stack of science fiction novels (and don't get him started on _Dune_ ), he could use them to - escape, to be honest. Escape. Whatever. When things got tough, they'd be there.

Recently, Dean's been doing a lot of reading.

At his side, Castiel is silent. He's warm. Every so often, his jumper brushes against Dean's side, and Dean moves off. Nobody wants somebody else filling their space - and Castiel won't want Dean in his. It stands to reason.

Nodding, Dean reaches out, and skims his hand across the spines. They're arranged alphabetically - duh - and then by topic segment, like, time travel, maize, whatever. This section appears to be '60s, which is just fine by Dean. The '80s were never really his cup of tea.

"Harper Lee," Castiel says; as he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "An exceptional choice."

And if Dean said he wasn't glowing right about now, he'd be lying.

"Thanks," he gets out. "Yeah, it's - I mean, I've read it already, but - can't go wrong with a classic, right?"

"People generally see what they look for," Castiel intones, "and hear what they listen for."

Brandishing the book, Dean rubs the back of his neck with one hand. He can feel it colouring already - and it's stupid, but Cas is looking at him, all serious and intense over the tops of his glasses, and Dean can't think of a single thing to say, except from _you quoted my book._

"Yeah," he settles on, and focuses on staring at the fiction section. Which. Well. "You got any recommendations?"

There's a little shuffling. When Dean turns his head, Castiel's nibbling his bottom lip. His eyes are roving across the shelves, back and forth. He's probably got all the books filed away in that big brain of his, just waiting to be reached.

Dean feels his breathing speed up - and it's stupid. This is all stupid. He should get back in his car and drive away, and not come back until he's forgotten all about - whatever this is. Fling, flurry, crush. Sure.

Castiel's hands are on his. Dean starts. He looks down, and Cas's fingers are warm, just skimming his own. Dean's heart jumps.

When Castiel speaks, his voice is quiet - like it's just between the two of them, or special, or something. Point is, Dean hasn't had butterflies like this since high school - and that is not an experience he wants to repeat. High school, that is. Not - those.

"Have you read _Go Set A Watchman_?"

Dean shakes his head. "Heard it wasn't as good as the original," he gets out, past the swelling in his tongue. Cas's hands haven't moved away; if anything, they've gravitated lower, brushing his wrists.

Castiel hums, breath puffing against Dean's face. "Arguably, _nothing_ could be as good as _To Kill A Mockingbird_ ," he points out, and Dean has to nod. "The cultural themes contained within it are, in my view, unsurpassable. Freedom, equality, oppression, hope for the future - all from a child's perspective. Truly remarkable. But I should read the sequel."

"Magic," Dean agrees, and only chokes a little.

Castiel's smile is soft. "Magic," he echoes, with a nod of his head. "Yes. I think so."

 

 

As it turns out, Balthazar's the guy Dean met on the way in, manning the front desk. He's also Castiel's cousin, or cousin twice removed - Castiel can never remember which. 

The library's the Novak business, or so Castiel says. They've been taking on a couple of apprentices over the summer, but they're not to the same standard. (Dean has to fight down a cough when Cas's nose crinkles.)

On the subject of family: there's Balthazar, chief cataloguer (although questionably talented), Gabriel, social media man (expert at his craft, too flirtatious to live), Samandriel, shelf-stacker and cookie-baker (definitely in the right position), Luci, who manages the accounts (don't ask), and Michael, who runs the place (and that's all there is to be said about him).

There's also Anna, who emerges when she can. She doesn't technically work here - more like a part time assistant. Mostly, she's buried behind stacks of paperwork in her office, which Castiel is often roped in to help her with. Dean's hit with the image of Cas swimming through a stack of papers, and has to sit down for a couple of minutes.

Aside from being cute, Castiel's also the driest guy Dean's ever met. Ever. By the end of a half hour, he's got Dean doubled over in hysterics. When a whole hour's passed, Dean's forgotten why he came in at all.

"And then I told him - well - he'd have to find somewhere else to plug in the speakers," Castiel says, "because that rabbit wasn't going to sit in my car forever."

"Oh my _God_ ," Dean gasps out, "you - where - where did you _hide_ that thing?"

Castiel smiles ruefully. It's broader than the one Dean first saw, revealing more teeth. Even though it is cast down at the floor, Dean's willing to count it as a win.

"I put it in Gabriel's garage," Castiel says, "and when he brought his date home, he had to - uh - contend with it."

"Owch," Dean says, and Castiel blushes.

"It wasn't my smartest move," he concedes. "But he got me back. I woke up every morning for a week with jam in my sheets."

" _How_?"

Castiel leans forwards, placing his hands on his knees. "Well, that's another - "

From the doorway, there's a loud and pointed cough. Dean spins around.

The man's short, and kind of stocky. He has brown hair down to his shoulders, and raised eyebrows. He's wearing a plain t-shirt and scuffed trainers, but he looks anything but mellow.

"Discussing my exploits, Cassy?" Moving forwards, the man slides down onto the sofa beside Castiel. Cas budges across the let him pass, knocking his shoulder against Dean's as he does so. (Dean tries not to think about how close they are now, and sort of epically fails.)

"My apologies," Castiel says. "I didn't think you'd mind."

The man shrugs, and beams. "No trouble," he says, "always good to keep the rumours circulating. I'm Gabriel, by the way."

"I gathered," Dean says. Somehow, Cas's hand has come to rest on his thigh. He's having trouble forming coherent thoughts, never mind sentences.

Gabriel smirks at him. "Something's got you flustered, pretty boy. Don't suppose it's me?"

Dean squeaks. Gabriel leers.

"No," Dean says, "no, I'm - I should be going. Good to meet you, Cas. Bye." Stumbling to his feet, Dean casts around for a hand hold, and lands on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel stiffens. His back turns as hard as an ironing board.

"Bye," Dean repeats, and flees.

 

 

Back at home, Dean chucks his back on the couch and opens the fridge. Delving around himself, he grabs a carton of milk and upends it. By the time it's half full, he's feeling calmer. The drive back did nothing to ease him. Every traffic light received a series of frenzied honks - which, now Dean thinks about it, was a pretty dick move.

But. _Cas_.

Cas. Funny, smart, librarian Cas. Cas, who works in the children's section, and who enjoys _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , and is willing to tell Dean all about his brothers and his sister; Cas, who plays pranks and had a pet rabbit and wears dorky sweater vests; Cas, whose face Dean couldn't shake all journey long.

Plopping down, Dean pulls up his laptop, and opens it. Clicking down on a couple of tabs, he refreshes Google, and pauses, hands hovering.

"Screw it," Dean says.

 

 

It takes Dean all of two days to read Go Set A Watchman. After that, it's a simple matter of messing with To Kill A Mockingbird a little (because seriously, who hands books back I the way they found them?), and biding his time.

 

 

He lasts a week.

 

 

When Dean finally walks into the library, there's no sign of Castiel. Casting around, Dean takes in a couple of readers - an elderly couple, a teenage girl with headphones in - before locking eyes with Gabriel.

"You might want to try the story corner," Gabriel tells him. "It's the one with the paintings. Can't miss it." 

"Thanks," Dean says. He doesn't look over again, but he can feel Gabriel grinning. He just knows. "Smarmy little coot."

"Takes one to know one!" Gabriel hollers, making the couple look up and the girl glare.

Dean winces.

 

 

The story corner's pretty unassuming. It's nestled in-between the historical and gardening sections - Dean isn't that sure why they belong together, but whatever. That's not why he's here.

The drawings are pretty good. Some of them have been done by the kids - but there are also great, sloping allies, and trees and streams and avalanches falling. Dean's itching to take a picture. 

However, since his reason for coming is currently sitting in the centre of a circle of eight-to-ten year olds, the majority of which are gazing at him with wide-eyed adoration, Dean stays put.

This one teeny tyke's too busy sucking his thumb to notic Cas. Dean can't figure how.

Today appears to be dress up day - and Castiel's certainly gone the full hock. He's the true image of a pirate: breeches, boots, big, floppy hat. He's even got a fake parrot on his shoulder. As he moves his hands, it bobs around wildly. It looks like it's about to hit a kid.

Castiel must be reaching the climax, because he's animated. Leaning back against a stack, Dean hides himself away and watches.

"They ran around and around the ship, this way and that - and the boat began to rumble, and rock, and shake!" To prove his point, Castiel sways with his words. The kids begin to move with him, bouncing up and down. "To rumble - and rock - and shake!"

Castiel pitches forwards. A little boy squeals with laughter as Castiel puts his fingers to the edges of his mouth, pulling his lips back. For a second, Castiel's beaming - and then, all of a sudden, it turns into more of a grimace.

"But when the boat stopped moving," Castiel continues, voice hushed, "do you know what they found?"

A chorus of 'no's. Castiel nods, smile dropping. Solemn and serious, he murmurs, "They found treasure. Not gold, and not silver - but the greatest treasure of all. The ability to smile." And then he looks up - right over to the stacks - and meets Dean's eyes. Dean's heart stops. "And isn't that so very important?"

Sitting back, Castiel snaps the book shut. He places it next to his foot. "Everybody, say hello to my friend Dean." Pointing forwards, Cas smiles softly. "Come on out."

Frantically, Dean shakes his head. "No, I'm, err - I'm good." Slowly, half a dozen heads swivel in his direction. Twelve beady eyes fix on him. Dean swallows. He offers up a wave. "Hi."

Going to his feet, Castiel steps over a tiny girl, and moves fluidly towards him. Somehow, his eyes are even bluer than Dean remembers. "Did you like the story?"

Dean nods. "Uh," he says. "You're - you're very good, Cas. Really - emotive."

A blush colours Castiel's cheeks. He dips his head. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon," he says. "I thought you might be holding out on me."

"Why'd I do that?" Dean shakes his head, and looks down. "Err - we've got an audience."

Castiel glances around. The kids blink up at him. Teeny tyke meets Dean's stare head on. "Of course," he says. "Thank you so much for coming, everyone. Story time will be at the same time next week. Remember to tell your parents."

"You dress like this every Thursday?" Castiel blinks at him, surprised - as well he should be. It's not every week that creepy, leery stalkers come onto you about your greatcoat. "I mean, you look nice. Real nice. Not in a weird way, though. You look - "

"I can offer you a private session," Castiel says. "If you'd like one. We're doing the hungry caterpillar next week, though, so it may not be up to much."

Dean snorts. "Hell, yeah," he says, "I'll take that."

(And if that ain't a testament to how far gone he is already, what is?)

Behind Cas, a couple of the kids begin to stream out. Castiel ruffles a boy's head as he passes. Dean is inexplicably envious.

"We should go somewhere more private," Castiel says, completely straight faced - and if Dean had been eating anything, he'd have coughed it straight back up. "The break room, perhaps? If you're available?"

"Yeah, I'm - yeah, sure, we could - "

Castiel's fingers close around his arm. "Excellent," he says, and tugs Dean forwards. Dean almost trips over his own boots. 

 

 

The break room is up three flights of stairs. By the end of it, Cas appears openly apologetic. "It's awful," he says. "But it must be done."

Dean nods. "Sammy's school was just the same. I'm used to it."

"Sammy?" Castiel turns away, and types a combination into the key pad. Dean fights to keep himself from craning over his shoulder. He goes get a four, though. "Is he - ?"

"My brother," Dean corrects. "Great kid."

Castiel nods. "I see," he says. "I'm sorry. I assumed - "

"Hey, it don't matter," Dean says, "plenty of folks thought we went out. Used to spend all our time together."

"And now?"

Dean sighs. "Not so much," he admits. "He's away at law school, and I'm - here. Which ain't bad. Don't get me wrong. It's a great town, it's just - "

"Small." Castiel pushes open the door. Dean feels something loosen in his chest. "I agree. If you're not suited to a place, remaining in it for too long can be constricting. Do you wish to travel?"

Stepping inside, Dean peers around. There are a couple of posters sticky-taped to the walls, and a clock with a rooster on it. Aside from that, the room's pretty bare - just desks and chairs and half-empty coffee cups. It seems impersonal - nothing like Castiel. No hints, no clues. Dean can't help but be disappointed.

"A bit," he says. "I'd like to go on a road trip. See the sights. You know."

"Anywhere in particular?" Castiel yanks the door shut behind them, gritting his teeth. "It always sticks. I can never - get it - right - "

"Here, lemme help," Dean says. Their hands close over the handle. Castiel stills. "Um."

The door closes, and they're left there, locked together. Castiel's hands are on his, and they're facing each other.

"Like the day we met," Dean jokes - only it falls a little flat, when Castiel's looking at him like that.

"Where would you like to go?" he says - and, at that moment, Dean's only answer would be _anywhere. Anywhere with you - because I'm so completely smitten I can't hold it in anymore._

"Arizona," Dean gets out. "The Grand Canyon."

"There are eight kinds of bats along the Canyon," Castiel says. He's looking up through his lashes, quiet and firm and sure - and Dean is hit with the sudden urge to hold him close, until there's no air left between them.

"Uh-huh," Dean replies.

They both move at the same time. Castiel's hands land on the sides of Dean's face, and Dean grabs Castiel's shoulders, and then they stop. 

"I'd like to kiss you," Castiel says, "if that's alright."

"Yep," Dean says, and they're kissing. Castiel's mouth slots against his - and if it was a movie, there'd probably be cheesy music playing right about now.

The world doesn't fade into nothingness behind them. There isn't a pink, rose-scented cloud. But there is Castiel's mouth against his, and Castiel's hands on his sides, and Castiel's everything in his everywhere - and, quite frankly, Dean couldn't be happier if he tried.

Dean closes his eyes, and moves in. Slowly - gently - Castiel angles his chin up, breaking the seal they've made. He licks his lips.

Dean takes a gulp of air. "Do I still get the hungry caterpillar?" he asks. "'Cause I was kinda counting on it."

Castiel smiles - and it's big. Bigger than Dean's seen. "If you like," he says. "I can do much better."

Dean holds his hand, bringing it up between them. Castiel squeezes. "How'd you feel 'bout going somewhere?"

Castiel looks down at their palms, and then back up at him. "I don't know," he says. "Anywhere in particular?"

"How 'bout the Canyon?" Dean says. "We could move on from there. South, maybe?"

"Sure does," Castiel says. "Partner."

Dean chuckles. "If that was meant to be an accent, that was awful."

"Sorry," Castiel says, not sounding sorry at all. "Couldn't help myself. I never had the gift. Gabriel's quite extraordinary. He can mimic anyone. Have I told you that?" 

"You'll learn," Dean says, and pulls him in close. Castiel's hands bunch in his shirt. "God, I'm so glad that worked."

"What did you think I was going to do? Run away?" Castiel taps his cheek. 

Dean shrugs, and says, "Maybe."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Good thing I'm not skittish, then."

"Great," Dean says. "So - do you actually have a caterpillar costume? I wanna see it."

"I absolutely do," Castiel protests, voice rising, "I am a professional, I do not break my word."

"Lemme see. Come on. Scoot."

"Maybe another time," Castiel says, fingers skimming along Dean's bicep. "I think we could be good together. Honestly."

"Me too," Dean says, and Castiel smiles at him, straight on. "Dimples."

Castiel grabs a paperback from his desk, and hits him with it. "I do not have - "

"Do too, they're right there, you can't  - "

"That is a lie, you are impossible - "

"You're blushing - "

"Come back here - "

"You'll have to - "

"I swear to God, Dean, I'll call Gabriel, this kind of behaviour is - "

" - catch me first - "


End file.
